


Learned Lesson

by PerfectFearsomeBeauty (SunnyValhalla)



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Farlan Church - Freeform, Gangbang, Isabel Magnolia - Freeform, M/M, Mentions of - Character - Freeform, POV Second Person, Revenge Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-25
Updated: 2017-04-25
Packaged: 2018-10-24 02:00:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10731822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunnyValhalla/pseuds/PerfectFearsomeBeauty
Summary: Levi learns a lesson that is going to stick forever.Post-ACWNR AU vignette where Flagon Darlett survived the expedition and blames Levi for the deaths of so many of his comrades.





	Learned Lesson

**Author's Note:**

> I had the idea for this fic after watching the second part of the ACWNR OVA, and it wouldn't leave my system until I wrote it down.

A cold breeze sweeps in over you and sends a shiver through your body, the sensation making you furrow your brow in confusion, drawing you out of unconsciouness…

Unconsciousness…

Sleep…

You don’t understand… You didn’t think you would get to sleep, but it seems that you did. It seems that you were so exhausted, so drained that you managed to pass out despite the constant buzzing in your head, the gruesome images engraved behind your eyelids.

Isabel - sweet, young Isabel - her head separated from her body and her wide eyes piercing through you with a lifeless, empty stare…

Farlan…bitten in half after bidding you a last goodbye.

You groan and try to bring a hand to rub the sleep from your eyes, only to find that your wrists - and your ankles! - are tied to the posts of the bunk bed where you now sleep completely alone. That alone has you wide awake, before the realization that your pants and underwear are pulled down. That would explain why the lower half of your body feels so cold.

Pathetic. So pathetic you almost want to laugh.

Passing out from complete exhaustion wasn’t enough, you just had to land yourself into this kind of situation. You who are always so alert and never have a deep sleep.

“Looks like the street rat is awake, at last,” says a male voice coming from somewhere above you and to your right.

You know that voice. That voice that is always so irritating and smug, that always addresses you with so much disdain…

“Flagon.” You almost snarl the name of the squad leader who had been left in charge of you.

“Took you long enough, too,” Flagon continues, ignoring your attempt at regaining some sort of control. It’s not surprising. “We were starting to think we would have to play with a ragdoll.”

Those words and the comtemptuous laughter that follow make your eyes widen, and you become aware of several pairs of hands holding you down. As if the ropes binding you are not enough…to hold down a rabid animal like you.

“It wouldn’t be quite as satisfying,” Flagon continues while you struggle against the hands holding you down. “Besides, how would you learn the lesson I want to teach to you if you’re unconscious?”

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” you ask with a snarl, narrowing your eyes even though you could not possibly look less intimidating. Hell, you don’t even think the owners of the silhouettes looming above you can see you glaring, but you glare up at them anyway.

The sound of their laughter makes you struggle harder, but just for a moment before your body decides on its own accord to surrender to the realization that all your efforts are in vain.

“Oh, definitely not a ragdoll,” Flagon remarks, and the amusement dripping from his voice makes your stomach turn. “That’s good.”

“Fuck you!” you growl back at him, in a fruitless display of defiance. Can you no longer speak without sounding like a cornered animal?

“Look at the rat giving us ideas…” That is the answer your defiance elicits, and it does not fail to silence you. It’s almost like your body and your mind are in complete dissonance.

“What? You thought you could get away with getting my comrades killed?” You hear Flagon snort, and the others follow, their hands seeming to become heavier. “You must be so proud of yourself, rat. Knowing that my comrades died because of you…”

You don’t understand. How could their deaths have been your fault? You know that Isabel and Farlan’s were, but the others? Flagon must be right, though. It must have been your fault. Everything is your fault.

“My comrades died because you and your friends infiltrated us after some documents. That weren’t even real!” You make a feeble attempt at struggling again, shaking your head vehemently.

Stop. Stop talking. Just stop.

You don’t want to hear about those fucking documents. Ever again.

“Was that worth it, rat?” Your face contorts in disgust when something wet lands on your skin. Spit. Filthy. “Was that worth it? To watch your friends die? They were just filthy rats, the same as you.”

“Shut up! Shut the fuck up!” you shout. “Leave my friends out of-”

Your protest is interrupted by a hard tug on your hair, the pain in your scalp making you gasp and…suddenly there’s something being shoved in your mouth and silencing you. A sour taste of sweat overtakes your tongue, making your stomach turn again. Someone’s cock is in your mouth. Flagon’s, probably.

You grumble around the filthy piece of flesh, and you are so tempted to tighten your mouth around it, to use your teeth and do your best to bite it off. You know that you would end up with your throat cut open if you were to do that, but you would not mind dying for hurting the man sitting on top of your chest.

 _You_ would not. But you remember Isabel and Farlan. They would not like for you to die in such an undignified way, with a filthy pig’s cock in your mouth, and his filthy blood running down your chin. You had neglected their safety for your own selfish reasons, now you are going to disrespect their memory too?

The thought of them makes you refrain from doing something stupid to defend yourself. Besides, you know you deserve this.

Suddenly, it’s like you are back in some filthy alley in the underground district, selling your body when pickpocketing and small robberies did not pay enough to get you through and you could no longer handle the grumbling of your stomach, the pain and emptiness.

You were not the only one you had to feed either, and you would never let Farlan go that far to provide for the three of you. Sometimes you would offer yourself to protect Isabel, too, because despite what others might think, even you knew that violence isn’t always the answer. Even in a place like the hellhole you grew up in.

You would much rather give yourself up to protect, to save what innocence Isabel had left. Yours was long gone…

You don’t even remember a moment when you ever possessed such a thing.

You gasp around the cock in your mouth and jolt startled when you feel that pain in your scalp again, bringing you back to the present hell.

“Letting your mind wander while I’m talking to you, rat?” You can hear the anger in Flagon’s voice, and you feel it as well when he thrusts deeper into your mouth. You almost choke around him when your gag reflex seems to decide this is a good time to make an appearance after years of being gone. The unbidden, unwelcome tears that spill out of your eyes make you hate yourself.

“You should’ve died with them,” Flagon says as he pulls out of your mouth with a disgusting loud pop. “No one would have missed you. It’s not like you should ever have left the sewers where your kind belongs anyway.”

Your relief is short lived, because you soon feel the bed dip close to your legs. That is when you realize that your pants and underwear are not pulled down, they are not even _on_ you.

Your pathetic self slept through your new so-called comrades stripping you from the waist down, and now you are here, completely at their mercy.

So unlike you.

Though, on second thought, it’s so very like you…

“You know, I never thought Erwin would be the kind of guy to bring his whores to work.” The comment catches your attention and you want to argue with him, but for some reason your tongue won’t obey your mind.

You attempt to struggle a last time when you feel the bed dip in the space between your legs.

“I don’t understand, you are so mediocre with your mouth… maybe it’s your ass that is so very sweet?”

No!

There is just no way you are going to be able to relax down there, so you start kicking even if it’s going to get you nowhere. Your ankles are securely bound, all Flagon needs to do is lift your hips just slightly and…

Pain.

A white-hot pain sears through you, becomes your entire world, when you feel his shaft entering you, your saliva coating his cock far from enough to ease the way into your tense body.

You scream at the top of your lungs. Or you would, if it were not for your pants being forcefully shoved into your mouth. Your muffled screams echo only in your own mind, in your own ears, drowning the obscenities that are thrown at you and the laughter…

Everything from here on becomes a blur.

You _know_ they take turns fucking you, but you’re not quite _there_.

You don’t know how long you’ve been alone, how long since the torment ended, when you finally feel the dried tears on your cheeks, the sticky mess between your thighs…

The next morning, you have to practically drag yourself over to the mess hall, but not before almost rubbing your skin raw in the shower, trying to wash them off your skin, as if you could ever get clean again. As if you had ever been clean. You try not to limp on your way to the seat farthest from Flagon you can find. You don’t want to keep your eyes down, you don’t want to give your handler - them - the satisfaction, but you can’t meet the other eyes around the room. You just can’t. You can almost see their knowing looks without lifting your own eyes anyway.

You could make an effort and tell someone, but you know no one cares. Who would choose your word over that of their own comrades whom they’ve known for years? You are a thug, a lowlife, the son of a whore…and a whore yourself. That is what you are, there’s no escaping it. That is all you will ever be.

********

You don’t feel the loss when Flagon and the men who had helped him that night die in another expedition.

You don’t feel relief.

You don’t feel anything.

Just the weight of the certainty that no matter what you’re not free. You won’t ever be.


End file.
